Secrets and Spies
by Cimmanin
Summary: Rachel Malfoy is suddenly thrust into the Dark Circle by request of the Dark Lord himself. Her assignment is to find out information about Harry Potter--and she must use that information to bring about his downfall. Rachel isn't exactly pleased to be orde


A slight breeze ruffled the grass, which was slowly turning yellow from the hot August weather, and caused the dry leaves to whisper. The sky arced above the summer landscape, allowing the sun to sit in a throne of sapphires and cloak itself with clouds. The flowers lined against the cobblestone walkway glowed daintily in the sunlight, throwing off their blues, reds, and yellows spectacularly.

Rachel sighed and turned away from the window, and instead looked about her room. Clothes littered the wooden floor, her green bedspread was disheveled, her desk was in a mess due to her hurried attempt to finish her homework the night before, and a few candy wrappings and magazines were scattered all over the room. Needless to say, she wasn't a very neat person.

She finished the article in the newest edition of _Witch Weekly_ about how to effectively brighten your skin tone, and tossed it to let it fall where it may among the wrappers and magazines.

Despite the fact that it was nearly ten in the morning, Rachel had only just gotten up. Her mind was lazily flicking over the possibility of a spell which could supply the Slytherin dungeons with some kind of warmth. She, Penelope, and Jonathan had all unanimously agreed one freezing November night that it was sorely needed.

Rachel hadn't seen her friends all summer, and she vaguely wondered if Penelope was still a brunette or had a new boyfriend. She most likely wasn't a brunette, as she seemed to change her hair color nearly every season. Rachel wouldn't have been too surprised to walk up to her tomorrow and find that her hair was an electrifying pink if not for the fact she had seen a column in IWitch Weekly/I about guys liking natural colors. She was also pretty sure she would be hearing about the number of boys Penelope had turned down over the course of the summer, as she was a extremely thorough flirt.

Jonathan...well, he could only be Jonathan for another year. Rachel expected to see him with the same brown hair, tanned skin, multicolored eyes, and smile she had grown accustomed over the years. If he had walked up with electrifying pink hair, she would have been a mix between completely shocked and hysterical with laughter.

A knock on the door disturbed her train of thought, and she answered in a bored and listless tone, "Come in."

A tall man in his late forties entered, long blonde hair tied in a neat ponytail. His gray eyes stared coolly. His eyebrows were slightly knit and his countenance held a frown, but he still managed to come across as a smooth aristocrat, a part he played quite excellently.

"Ah, Rachel," he said, looking around the room with obvious distaste. "How delightful to see you."

His being there put Rachel on the alert, but his statement caused her suspicion to rise. After all, her uncle never came without some dire reason, due to a fight he and her mother had years ago, and when he did come, he never acted happy about it.

"As you, Uncle," Rachel said politely, knowing she would have to keep her cool now. However much she hated to admit it, she was scared out of her wits by her uncle.

"You are looking more beautiful than ever," he commented. "Just like your mother."

_Let's get past the politeness and courtesy and on to why you're here, _Rachel's impatience whispered, but the girl only let herself think these things, never daring to say them out loud.

"Thank you," she said with a smile--a very forced, cool smile.

An uncomfortable silence took hold of the room and sat between the two like a snake waiting to strike. Rachel didn't know what to say, and it was very clear that Lucius Malfoy was in no hurry as he sat adjusting his robes and examining his fingernails.

Finally, he spoke. "We need a spy at Hogwarts."

_How interesting, _Rachel thought.

"Who is to be this spy?" Rachel asked, tossing the thought aside. She knew the answer, but she wouldn't say so. Not to Lucius Malfoy at any rate.

"You are."

_There has got to be some reason_, she continued to wonder.

"Er, Sir? May I ask a question?" she said daringly.

He looked at her strangely, and then nodded, sending shivers of fear down Rachel's spine, but she ignored them and asked, "Why can't Draco do it?"

"Draco is head boy," he said plainly. "So, do you accept this challenge?"

"I accept it with honor."

"Glad to hear it," her uncle said, his brow smoothing out slightly. "Draco will inform you at the Hogwarts Express more fully. Understood?" He looked sternly at her, and Rachel tried to stare back, but ended up averting her eyes to her lap.

_Why me?_

"Yes, Sir."

"Good day," he said, getting up easily from his chair, and darting around the mess of the room as though it were a horde mud puddle. He shut the door firmly, leaving Rachel to her thoughts.

"Well," she said to herself as soon as he was gone. "That was something."

It had been years since he had come twenty feet within the cottage. Or, as he had said five years ago, his cottage, on his land, paid for with his money, and supplied out of his good heart. Who gave their sister a measly old cottage while they lived in a towering manor anyway?

However, this might be the chance she needed for the Malfoys to see she wasn't just some pretty face to get married off, not just another Malfoy girl that was there to keep up the name. She would show them she was someone, show them she was better than her twit of a cousin. He had been stealing the spotlight for years, and perhaps this would distract all of the attention he had been getting for so long.

Perfect, wonderful Draco. Prefect, Head Boy, handsome, almost-betrothed, would-make-any-family proud Draco.

Well, to hell with that. It was her chance to shine, her chance to prove herself. She'd make them see how much better she was than him.

Of course, if she messed up things could only get worse. She was sure there would be some extreme punishment. But she wouldn't mess up. This was too important for her to mess up. Besides, how hard could a little bit of spying be?

Rachel ignored the part of her mind that told her it could be very difficult.

"Rachel! Why on earth are you picking at your food like that?"

The afternoon had come and gone, and before Rachel knew it, she was eating her last supper at home. The tension hung thick in the air, and silence had prevailed until her mother had finally gotten sick of it.

"I dunno."

In truth, she didn't. There was a heavy feeling in her stomach that was only worsened by the aroma drifting tantalizingly out of the steak and potatoes. The feeling was unexplainable, though she was sure it had something to do with her uncle and upcoming mission.

Silence took hold of the room again, only broken by the sound of forks and knives clanging on china plates and the distant creak of a shutter that had been left open.

"Did you know about the mission?" Rachel asked abruptly.

A pause followed her words, more deadly and more thickly coated with tension that any of the previous silences.

"Yes."

Outrage bubbled under Rachel's calm exterior and cool voice, but found a slow vent through her eyes, which burned with controlled fire. "And you didn't tell me?" The words were spoken slowly, as though it took considerable deliberation to get them out correctly.

"I was told not to. Lucius"--she spat the name out like venom--"was given the task."

"Do you know why I was chosen?"

"No, Rachel, I don't," her mother answered, her brow creasing with worry. "He never said. But I'm sure it's for no terribly imperative reason. Not any reason that you'll be in danger." The crease that deepened at the corners of Rosalind Malfoy's mouth was enough to tell her daughter that the words were only spoken for her especial benefit.

Thankfully, supper was over before anything else strange occurred, and the two got up without a sound, except for the dull thud of their chairs as they pushed them back to rise up from them. Rachel's mother flicked her wand at the plates, glasses, and silverware on the cherry wood table and ushered them over to the sink. She charmed them to wash themselves.

Rachel turned her back on the ordinary after-supper scene, acting as though she wasn't glad for some sense of normalcy on a day that was quite the opposite, and went to her room to check over her trunk one more time. If she wasn't careful, she'd forget something that was sure to be important, and the last thing she wanted was to be embarrassed the first day of school because she'd have to have an owl carrying a sack full of knickers for her.

Yes, she had packed all the clothes, both Muggle and wizard robes, that'd she need, her books, her shampoo and all other toiletries she wouldn't need in the morning, her money...It looked like everything was there. She checked to make sure her robes were properly ironed and that the charm she had placed on Slytherin crest that made the snake move was still working, which it was. She then looked around the room, visually sweeping it clean; searching for something she'd missed.

A dark green, leather-bound journal sat on her desk. She vaguely remembered Penelope giving it to her the year before, saying something about writing her deepest thoughts down and sorting them out, to which she also somewhat remembered replying, "Yeah, when hell freezes over. I'm quite capable of sorting through my thoughts without some book, thanks." To which she also remembered Jonathan laughing, flashing that dimple in his cheek. She also, albeit somewhat reluctantly, remembered the jumpy feeling that had accompanied his laugh.

Rachel shook her head of any such thoughts, and instead carefully hid the journal underneath _Advanced Guide to Transfiguration_, wondering even as she put it there why she was carrying it. She shrugged, sending the question to the back of her mind.

She threw her Pixie eyeliner into her make-up bag, and made sure that everything was as it should be for the next day. Her clothes were laid out in her recliner by the window, her make-up on her bathroom sink, her toothbrush and toothpaste laid out, and her facial pads sitting in the cabinet. She could go to sleep and dream of traveling to Hogwarts with her friends instead of sitting around the old cottage on the edge of the Malfoy Manor.

_There was mist all around her, so thick she couldn't see past it. She knew there was something she was looking for in the dense fog, something important. But she couldn't find it, and the fog pressed harder upon her. She had to find it soon...or else...She didn't know what would happen; she knew only that it was bad. There was a glimpse of something...perhaps that was it..._

"RACHEL! Get up, now. We have to be at the train station in two hours, and I know how long it takes you to get ready!"

Her mother's voice woke her, and she felt a mix of being relieved and being disappointed. But, her mother was right. It took her a while to get ready, and she'd need the entire two hours to look her best.

Two hours later, with only the mishap of dropping her breakfast and misapplying her mascara, they were on their way to Kings Cross Station. Anticipation settled itself in Rachel's stomach as she wondered what color Penelope's hair was now and if Jonathan had, if possible, gotten taller or tanner over the summer.

As it turned out, Penelope's hair was its natural blonde, with only the explanation being, "There was a poll I saw in Witch Weekly last month--you have been getting your weekly magazine, right Rachel?--that said most wizards from 12 to 20 think that blondes are the best, so--here I am, blonde as ever."

It was a rather short explanation for Penelope, who seemed to chatter incessantly about one thing or another, which led Rachel to believe that there was more to the story than she was telling. The thought was whisked out of her mind however when she heard a familiar voice from behind her.

"It didn't say anything about dark-haired, dangerous-eyed, sharp-tongued girls, now did it? Hullo Penelope, Rachel," another laugh punctuated his sentence. "No need to look at me as if I've grown a pair of horns and am in tow with a pitchfork."

Jonathan, in fact, had gotten taller and tanner over the summer, and the effect it had on Rachel was an astonishing one. It took all the will power she possessed to keep her mouth firmly shut and keep her eyes from widening. She couldn't imagine what was making her react this way. After all, it was only Jonathan, the same boy who had only last year turned her hair a horrifying purple, and, until right now, she had always been comfortable around. She had always thought Penelope was starkers whenever she brought up the subject of Jonathan having feelings for her, but as of late, she had reveled in it, shocked when the thought brought her pleasure.

"Er, Rachel? Are you ok?" There was a note of concern in Jonathan's voice.

"Of course, she's fine. She's just a bit surprised at you is all. Who wouldn't be, you sneaking up like a villain like that, just coming out of nowhere? Scared me too, truth be told. How in the world did you get any taller?" Penelope's chatter brought Rachel to her senses, and with a slight shake of her head, Rachel smiled at Jonathan.

She turned her head just in time to miss the look he gave her, which, if she had seen it, would have scared her enough to knock all the unorganized thoughts running across her mind right out of their senses.

She saw Draco heading towards her, and with a slight frown, said, "I suppose you're here to tell me--"

"Shut. Up," he said pointedly. "You two get on the train. My cousin and I have some...things...to discuss."

"I don't care if you're Head Boy or not--" Jonathan began, but Penelope clamped a hand over his mouth, and drug him away from the two, giving Draco a flirtatious apologetic grin.

"Come on," Draco said as if he hadn't seen Penelope's gesture. "Get on the train."

Rachel hated to be bossed around by her own peers, but she knew Draco was someone she couldn't lash her tongue at.

Once they were in an abandoned compartment he spoke again. "So, you're the spy. You're going to join Potter's little group--the DA, I think, and you're going to get friendly with the lot of them. You get so friendly they tell you things, friendly enough that you know about the Order. And you give that information to me. I'll give it to father, and he'll give it to the Dark Lord." He smiled a smile that made Rachel shiver, for it was so full of malice. "And if you mess up...Well, I don't think you'd like the Cruciatis Curse too much."

Against her will, Rachel's eyes widened, which only made Draco laugh.

"Get on to your stupid friends, and leave me alone."

"They are NOT stupid," Rachel said with Jonathan in mind, "and I didn't even badger you in the first place." She instantly regretted her words after she said them, but kept her expression defiant.

Draco's eyes narrowed. "I'd watch my tongue if I were you, _cousin_. And as for that friend of yours, the Frinleigh boy--"

"Draco, come on," a Pansy called from the doorway. "Quit chatting with your cousin. We've got a meeting to attend."

Rachel shot Draco a lingering glare before stalking out of the compartment, trying to find the one her friends were occupying. Finally, hearing undistinguishable, but loud, voices coming from nearby, and she found her friends.

"What's happened now?" she asked upon her arrival, plopping herself down beside Penelope and unwrapping a Pumpkin Pastry that one of them had bought before the train had started moving.

"Nothing," they answered in unison.

"Come on," Rachel said with a look, "it's completely apparent that something has happened."

"All I'm saying," Penelope said with a glare at Jonathan, "is that I don't want to be with him for a minute longer! I'm leaving."

"Suit yourself," Rachel said nonchalantly, reading the ingredients that were listed on the Pumpkin Pastry wrapper, surprised by the fact that pumpkin wasn't listed.

"So, what'd Draco want to talk to you about?" Jonathan asked abruptly after a few moments of silence.

"Er, nothing," Rachel said hurriedly. "Er, I mean to say, er, family business," she added at Jonathan's unbelieving look.

"Right," he said, though she could tell he didn't believe her. "You might as well tell me the truth."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not supposed to."

"Since when," he said, barely keeping his voice level, "do you give a damn about what you are and aren't supposed to do?"

"Since it matters, Jonathan!" she exploded, standing up. "No wonder you and Penelope are always getting into fights."

The rest of the long ride was filled with the girlish chatter that accompanied Penelope when she re-entered the compartment, with a bit of her strawberry lipstick smeared, a sight to which Jonathan and Rachel had become accustomed to after time. Jonathan merely amused himself by listening to their troubles, such as how to find the right shade of foundation and how it was near impossible. Why, he himself had to land a wife this year. And he had his eyes set on one girl in particular...

The train pulled to a sudden stop.

"What? Are we there already?" Penelope asked, flipping her hair absently over her shoulder.

Note: Starkers is a word for "mad" or "crazy". I don't know if everyone is familiar with it, but it's a pretty common word here


End file.
